After Effects
by mirrorballsymphony
Summary: Sam Vimes was overjoyed when his son was born apart from all the attacking Carcer malarkey and the increased stress levels, but they were worth it just for his son. But the rest of the Watch found the transition hard to cope with.
1. Chapter 1

**Sam Vimes was overjoyed when his son was born apart from all the attacking Carcer malarkey and the increased stress levels, but they were worth it just for his son. But the rest of the Watch found the change difficult to cope with.**

* * *

Hair sticking up everywhere, eyes shadowed from smudged smidgens of mascara hastily applied in her cracked mirror, the creases of the covers still adorning her pale arms and legs underneath one of Carrot's huge shirts and her leggings, Angua knocked on the door.

'You wanted me, sir?'

Vimes turned round, looking just as tired as she felt. 'Look, sergeant, I'm sorry...'

'What do you need me to do?' It had become a ritual now, whenever Vimes was overcome by work and paper and general stuff, not to mention the constant pressure of having a one year old, he'd call on her. She hadn't killed him _yet_.

He pointed to his desk, or what was once a desk and had been engulfed by bureaucracy. 'This.'

'What, all of it?'

'All of it still salveageable. Look, I'm sorry about this.'

'It's fine, sir.'

'I'm keeping you from sleep, I know.'

'Yes, you are,' she said bluntly, no longer caring.

The corners of his mouth twitched up slightly. 'You can have a break tomorrow.'

_Doubt it_, Angua thought privately, but simply nodded as Vimes pulled on his coat and walked out of the door, slamming it behind him.

It was going to be a long night. To top it off, she would probably have to wash up all of the mugs adorning every single surface in Vimes's office, a job that she'd done only last week.

Sometimes, she admitted to herself, she was sick and tired of it all.

* * *

Sam Vimes the Senior glared at his wife as Sam Vimes the Junior decorated his breeches with mashed parsnip.

'Sorry, dear,' she said, kissing the top of his head. 'I'll get a cloth.'

Vimes nodded absently and looked down at his son, gurgling away happily on his lap.

Sometimes these moments, just him and Young Sam chuckling, were better than any time the Watch could ever give him.


	2. Chapter 2

'Carrot?'

Carrot rolled out of bed, not bothering to changed out of his pyjamas, and walked to the door. When he opened it he saw a frantic looking Vimes wringing his hands together, half shaved, fully exhausted and looking as if he was walking off the precipice between stressed and needing sectioning.

'Young Sam's fallen out of the cot,' he said quickly. 'Sybil says he's fine, but I don't know if he's got some sort of damage or if he's bruised or if-'

'It's fine, sir.'

'So can you do my patrol tonight?'

Carrot glanced almost imperceptibly at the huddled shape of Angua under the covers and felt a tiny pang of regret. 'Of course, sir.'

Vimes looked grateful. 'Thanks, lad. I know that it might be nothing, but-'

'It's fine, sir.'

He nodded and disappeared, feet hammering on the wooden steps as he shouted out orders and yelled at slowly responding, sleep deprived lance-constables who hadn't signed up for this sort of thing. Carrot turned around and looked at Angua's tired face.

'I'll be back as soon as I can.'

She nodded wearily and fell back onto the pillow.

* * *

Vimes threw open the door and hurried up the stairs, pausing only for a moment half way up to take a deep gulp of air and keep on going.

He ran into the nursery and stopped suddenly as Sybil turned round, looking confused.

'Sam, I told you he was fine.'

He finally exhaled


	3. Chapter 3

Shouting echoed throughout the rooms of Pseudopolis Yard, causing several of the constables to hide under flimsy desks and Sergeant Colon, who thought that he'd already seen Sam Vimes at his worst years ago, start to shake. The duty officer's table shook with him.

Carrot appeared from his office, looking bemusedly around. Colon caught sight of him and gestured for him to go back into his office.

Almost immediately after Carrot's door had closed silently, there was a scream as a prone figure was flung down the stairs and came to land on the wooden floorboards, which exuded dust. Fifty men, who'd seen the worst that humanity* had to offer, stopped breathing.

There was silence. Echoing silence.

After he was sure that Vimes wasn't about to come down the stairs, Colon poked his head above the desk and narrowed his eyes as he saw Nobby groaning on the floor.

'What'd you do?' he asked.

Nobby stood up shakily, raising a hand to his ear to check for the dog end tucked behind it. When the search was unsuccessful one of the kinder officers handed a cigarette and a lighter to him, wincing as Nobby bit the end off it before applying the flame.

'What'd you _do_?' Colon repeated.

'Caught me nickin' the sugar, din't he,' Corporal Nobby said morosely. 'Never 'ad any trouble wiv it before, but now he's all touchy and stuff with Sam bein' ill.'

'Young Sam's ill?' Colon repeated.

'Yeah. Cold or summat. I mean, when we was kids we were ill all the damn time from the damp, but me mam never drove herself ragged with it.'

'Young Sam's ill?' Colon said again, incredulously.

After a moment of silence, one of the watchmen voiced what they were all thinking. 'Oh, _bugger_.'

There was another moment of silence, then the crash as Vimes's table fell over from being flung upside down.

'Don't look into his eyes!' Colon hissed. The men frantically found something else to look at.

Vimes's eyes were maddened, face bright red and blotchy, hair standing on end. His footsteps seemed twice as loud as they trampled the stairs underneath them, heavy boots threatening everything around them.

'Who the hell just swore?'

No one looked at him.

'That is Assault on a bloody Senior Officer!' he yelled. 'You're all bloody well fired! You can piss off back home, for all the use you do me! I can get on dealing with the buggers myself!'

'Um, commander?'

Vimes span round like an avenging angel and stilled when he saw Carrot standing on the landing, looking confused. 'What?' he managed to bark.

'You've got a message from the Patrician,' Carrot said nervously, taking a step backwards for good measure. 'Um, he says it's urgent.'

The sentence that followed would wear out the asterisk key on the keyboard.

* * *

*Humanity being a relative term.


	4. Chapter 4

**Mistress Paramore - oh, don't you love overprotective Vimes? He's just so funny.**

**Elizabeth Bower - laughing on the floor? My work here is done. And please, please start writing again :D**

**koryandrs - thank you, new person :)**

**constantlearner - yes, I wouldn't exactly want to be Carrot or Colon or the luckless lance-constable, but it's fun to write.**

**Enjoy, and keep reviewing :D**

* * *

It was the weekly Watch meeting with the Patrician. Vimes, Carrot, Angua and Cheery were seated around the huge table in the Rats Chamber, feeling their skin start to crawl, when the Patrician walked in and frowned at them.

'Something wrong, Commander?'

Vimes muttered something unintelligible under his breath and Vetinari looked questionably at Carrot, who shrugged. He sat down at the head of the table and repositioned his robe slightly.

'So, to matters of pressing urgency,' he started. Angua found her head going cloudy like cotton wool, just as it did in every meeting she had ever attended.

'The lack of a vampire representative in the Watch. I've had many complaints from the Temperance Society saying that they feel that it's unfair that of all the species in the Watch you still carry your own prejudices when recruiting.'

'We've never had any vampire applicants.'

'You've never encouraged them.'

'We've never encouraged _anyone!_ We've got too many damn recruits now!'

Vetinari cleared his throat and Vimes subsided. 'However, we have no complaints from actual vampires, so I shall point this out to Count and Countess Notfaroutoe in due time.' He turned over another piece of paper. 'And we are having complaints from the public about the number of stray dogs again. I wonder, Sergeant Angua, if you could try and identify this?'

He slipped a grubby letter over to the sergeant who picked it up carefully and sniffed it.

'Gaspode,' she said grimly.

'Oh yes, he's learned to write,' Carrot said cheerfully, examining the letter. 'Very intelligent dog, I've always said.'

'Very something,' Angua muttered.

'Is this that goddamn dog who kept following you when you joined?' Vimes asked grumpily. 'Keeps coming in the Watch House to get the curry. Bloody Colon always gives it to him.'

Vetinari looked interested. 'The scribe of this letter was a _dog_?'

'Yep. Bloody talkative one at that.'

'A talkative dog?' Vetinari made a note of it. 'I must speak with the magicians again. Commander Vimes, are you all right?'

Vimes had been staring out of the window, his eyes squinting into the distance. 'Huh?'

'You seem rather distracted.'

'Oh, it's nothing,' Vimes said, looking around awkwardly. 'What were you talking about?'

'Commander, will you please pay attention?'

Vimes narrowed his eyes, but chose not to say anything.

'And then we have the continued traffic congestion, but that is merely a fact of life in our fair city,' Vetinari looked down. 'And the occasional protest against what the Times has been writing.'

He waited for Vimes' comment, which didn't come.

'Commander Vimes?'

'Huh?'

'I asked you what your opinion on the Times' latest articles was.'

'Bloody nosy buggers,' Vimes muttered. They were already starting to try and find a match for Young Sam.

'Accurately surmised, Sir Samuel. You're still looking out of the window.'

'Am not.'

Vetinari merely raised his eyebrows.

There was a moment's silence, then the pigeon flew into the window. It went splat and Cheery jumped out of her skin.

Angua merely raised her eyebrows and opened the window to let the stunned pigeon flutter in and relieve itself on the window.

'Personal message for you, sir,' she said, looking at Vimes.

'Is there?' he answered innocently.

'Says it's from your wife.'

Vimes snatched it out of her hand and unrolled it frantically. There was a moment of stunned silence bar the cooing of the pigeon as he scanned it, then he punched the air and whooped.

'Sir Samuel?'

'My son isn't in Freddie Rust's class!' Vimes cheered.


End file.
